A/N:
Disclaimer: I don't own Flight 29 Down—the book, movie, or TV show—or anything really. I just have a good imagination, mostly.
Ghost (noun): 1. a person who takes on an image that renders him nearly invisible to the people around him, 2. a person who doesn't stir up trouble, a person who doesn't get involved in gangs or disputes. Normally refers to a person of European decent.
I meant that as a non-offensive description. It's a slang word I, or someone else I guess, made up to describe something. Because, trust me, it's a true rarity to see a white person around here. Especially one that doesn't get hospitalized. It's even more rare when there's more than one.
Summary:
Jackson has had it rough, after being taken away from his "abusive" father and even before that. He was in a decent foster home but can no longer stay, forcing him to move back to live with his "reformed" father for two months before being placed in a new and improved foster home with an excellent private school waiting for him (which will no doubt be a shock, after him "schooling himself" for the past few months). New characters (of course) and old collide in what may be vaguely interesting to you.
Jackson will still be an enigma, but this is a (hopefully) more rational glance at gang life, abuse, etc. And, yeah, I am still coming to terms with a white, non-tattooed and non-scarred non-creep that doesn't watch/plan dog-fights or do/sell drugs, who also looks more like a male model than some Al Capone.
Warning: This is rated T for teen now, because of the level of violence and plain bluntness, but review if you think the rating should be higher. Frankly, I'm well known for being "brutally honest", so I'm sure my writing carries that trait. I tend to lean a little towards dark, too. So...sorry. If you have to think T for teen just be warned that rating is more like Skins, rather than Flight 29 Down. Sorry if I offend anyone, but honestly, if you don't feel comfortable already don't read. There will be: mild violence, some scenes with moderate abuse in them (nothing like incest, don't worry), and possible parts where people may or may not be holding hands, kissing, or spreading their germs in other ways. The last one is mildly doubtful. I may have said this before (or not), but I'm not one for "cutesy".
Preface
Jackson sat, watching as a mother fixed up some little kid's hurt knee. The little guy was bawling his eyes out.
How pathetic.
"Jack! Jack! Look what I can do!"
His head swiveled around, until his eyes fell on one of his current foster mother's strays (as she called them). This one had blaringly red hair that stood up at all kinds of weird angles. He was about nine, probably. Currently, he was hanging upside down from the monkey bars.
I never did that as a kid. It was too dangerous. My Dad would've flipped out.
He sighed. "Good job," he muttered unenthusiastically.
Why do kids always expect praise for everything they do? They won't be told this junk once they're older.
"You don't think it's cool?" the kid asked him.
He shrugged. "I don't know. Hey, Toby," he said, glancing at the chunky kid with the buzz cut Miranda had taken in recently, a few weeks before the other one. "Can you do that?"
"S-sure," Toby stammered, walking over.
Why is he so scared? I never did anything to him. Doesn't he know the worst thing in the world to be is weak?
He watched curiously as Toby tried to imitate the other one. He only remembered their names once they had been at the house for about a week. After that, they tended to stay for a month or two so he figured it was worth it.
He watched as he fell, once, twice, and then managed to do it perfectly. He allowed himself a small half smile. "Frankly, John, I think what Toby just did is more amazing. He's fat; you're lanky as a toothpick. Obviously, it's harder on him."
Toby let out a squeak. He ignored him. He was overweight. Better to tell him now than let him go on and pretend he was handsome. Once he got into high school he'd realize soon enough, maybe even in junior high. Some kid would forget to be nice.
"My name isn't John," the red-head muttered, finally speaking as he let himself plop down to the ground. He winced at the plop.
My Dad definitely wouldn't have allowed that.
"Then what is it? You definitely look like a John Doe to me," he drawled, leaning back on the park bench.
The red-head huffed. "Are you referring to me as a dead person?"
"No. I'm referring to you as the person whose name I don't care to remember at this moment," he hissed.
The red-head froze, now scared, and obviously scared at that.
What is with them? Are they just taking these kids away from their parent or parents randomly? They're terrified, wimps. What's up with that? You can't be weak, or you don't survive. Maybe they're ghosts?
"My name's Tyler," he whispered finally, scooting back closer to Toby.
"Eh," he said, shrugging.
"You really don't care, do you?" Tyler asked, narrowing his eyes. He stood a head taller than Toby, but he still was pathetic; scrawny as heck.
"Not really," he responded, stretching out on the bench further, looking like a hobo without his Hoover blanket.
"Why did Miranda even take you in? You're a pain," Tyler hissed.
He raised an eyebrow, looking between the two. Toby gulped, looking at Tyler with wide eyes. They thought he'd hurt them, still. Why? He had no idea. He wasn't civil, but he also wasn't violent. Plus, he took them wherever they wanted to go.
"I am? Good to know," he said, slowly. "Just go play."
Toby tugged on Tyler's arm, finally dragging the bratty red-head off.
I'd have gotten smacked for comments like that.
His Dad had been a character, definitely. He'd worried about doctor's bills, but he hadn't worried truly about his well-being. He hadn't worried about his psyche, definitely; not like so many parents did these days. All he believed in was true Darwin style Survival of the Fittest. If you didn't work, you starved. It was like living under a Fascist Dictatorship, with a population of two. Basically, he agreed with George Bernard Shaw on a few things. He hadn't been crazy, like the people who'd taken him away had said, loudly. He was smarter, probably smarter than most people around. He'd known 9/11 was going to happen, six months beforehand. He was intelligent. But he didn't understand human nature, at all.
At least I'm not that bad. Maybe if Mom hadn't left he wouldn't have changed.
He'd been told his Dad had been more normal, less extreme when he was younger. But his mother leaving him with him had broken him. Her leaving had broken him. In essence, he figured he'd given her his whole heart. When she'd gone, she'd taken his soul with her.
Luckily I won't be letting anyone have my heart.
"Hey."
He jumped, being shaken out of his reverie by the voice. He looked up, seeing a freckle-faced girl with unruly strawberry blonde hair.
"Hey," he said back, warily.
Recently, his father had brought around a lot of bimbos; bleached blonde, tight clothes, fake body parts. This girl seemed far too young, but you never could tell. Gray looked to be in her early twenties, but she worked just the same. He was vaguely worried that one of them would come after him, crying and screaming and very willing to claw up the son of the man that had wronged her. He never kept one around for too long, after all.
"So, saw you sitting here and wanted to talk to you," the girl said, sitting down beside him, on his right. He raised an eyebrow.
At least this one isn't a stuttering fool. I swear those new Romance novels rot girls' brains. Of course, girls have always wanted abusive, tough boyfriends. Anyone who wants what I've more or less had for the past fifteen years needs medical help.
"Sorry, that was kind of forward," the girl apologized, after a moment of silence. "I'm Natalie."
"Jackson," he said, calmly.
She looked thoughtful. "Nice name," she said.
He nodded, watching her closely, tense. "Why did you want to talk to me?"
"Well, you seemed to be interacting with your little brothers okay and by that I mean you didn't just tell them to buzz off," she said.
He scoffed. "Did you hear what I said?"
"Yeah, I heard you being brutally honest, yes," she said, frowning slightly.
He blinked, surprised. This was new.
"I also saw you had a rocking body. I don't mind either, so I thought I might as well say hello," she finished.
He blinked again. "That's different."
She laughed, throwing her head back. "Don't worry, I know," she said, brown eyes sparkling. "I can tell you're not interested, though."
He shook his head. "Not really."
"Gay?" she asked, tilting her head to the side.
He chuckled. If he'd had it in him, he'd have liked this girl. She was spunky. But he knew he didn't need to get in a relationship. No girl deserved his massive amounts of baggage—they'd get crushed under it all.
"No. Well, probably not. I do look like a punk, though, yes," he mused.
"Probably not?" she asked, grinning deviously.
"Let's just say no one really does it for me and leave it at that," he said, sitting up. "I like your personality, though."
She nodded. "Most don't."
"Yes, but at least people like us can look down on them with pity," he said, grinning wolfishly.
"People like us?" she asked him, crooking an eyebrow.
He hummed, not exactly a response.
"They aren't my brothers," he said instead, after five minutes of relatively comfortable silence.
She jumped beside him, obviously startled.
"They're my foster brothers," he said, adding onto what he'd said before. "You don't want to know me, baby."
"I figured. You do have that whole deranged, emotional freak thing going on for you," she said, grinning slyly again. "Good luck with your life. Break a leg and all that," she added, standing up. He noted her ripped jeans and burned out top. Still, like the average woman, she thought showing off her body was the only way to live.
The true question is why don't girls like seeing guys half dressed. It seems unfair.
"Bye, Natalie," he said, watching as she walked off without another word.
He somehow wished he could get with her, she seemed nice enough and just not nice enough to suit him. But like he said, she deserved better. Messed up people shouldn't date the other messed up people of their world. It could only end in problems, mainly with one or the other ending up dead (see Romeo and Juliet for reference, since they were both whacked). Or, as a general rule, messed up people shouldn't date until they're mostly fixed.
But as long as the rule of victim and victimizer never showed itself in him, maybe someday he could. Maybe like five years from now, once he was out of the blasted system and hopefully not in jail.
For now, I just have to wait. Wait and watch, like always.
A/N: This was short because it was a Preface. If Jackson is creepy…well, he was supposed to be. I try not to get into dramatics too much, but tell me if I am leaning towards theatrics. Eh, review if you would and if you flame me I'll lend those flames to the pyromaniac person in the duo that own this account. You got to help those poor pyromaniacs out (otherwise they'll set your pants on fire), so flame away if you wish. Make it a good flame, though, and follow basic procedures.
And, if you have any ideas I'd like it if you shared (via review or PM). I'm not exactly sure where to go with this. It could be a complete AU or I could go through the motions of them crashing on the island. It's really up to you guys, since I'm unsure about what to write now. This idea just popped into my head for reasons I will not state, so I'm lost.